


the ruined kingdom of your heart

by redretroconverse



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2015, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5473214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redretroconverse/pseuds/redretroconverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumplestiltskin takes over the Enchanted Forest and the lands beyond it and suddenly the gates to the Dark Castle are open; the gates to the ruined cities of his heart remain firmly shut; but Belle is patient, hopeful and very sexually frustrated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the ruined kingdom of your heart

**Author's Note:**

> For westcoastmalone, who prompted 'my kingdom for you'. Happy Christmas, I hope you have a great year:)

Belle hadn’t known what to say when Rumplestiltskin had out of the blue decided to take over the whole of the Enchanted Forest and the lands beyond it. It had all happened so quickly – one minute he had just been hers, well not _hers_ hers because they weren’t like that (no matter how much Belle’s dreams seemed to insist they were) but what she meant was, it had just been the two of them, and suddenly the dining hall where they had tea was the throne room and there were hundreds of people that came to ask for his assistance every day. Belle sometimes watched him dish out advice, relegate soldiers, make deals – he was very good at it too, if not a just a little exasperated with the people he helped, Charming in particular – and just giggled because who would’ve thought the Dark One, the evil of all evils would make a better ruler than Snow White, princess of purity and goodness and light.

He was – anyone with half a brain could see that. Snow White hadn’t been able to deal with the threat of Regina. She was too kind, too powerless against the kind of magic Regina seemed to deal in. Rumple had put up a block at every turn, stopping her from casting whatever curse she’d seemed so intent on. That part confused her – he’d wanted her to cast the curse before. She’d watched him train Regina to do it. And then one day, the same day he’d _decided_ to become king, he’d summoned her and there’d been a big argument which she definitely _hadn’t_ listened in on and there had been such desperation in Regina’s voice when she’d screamed, _“This is my only chance at happiness! I thought you understood that! I thought you wanted me to be happy!”_ The Evil Queen had broken down right there in their dining hall and Belle couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the older woman even though she had often been caught in the crosshairs when the Queen and Rumple argued (which was _often_ ).  Regina was happy now, though. She and Snow White’s daughter seemed to be caught in the epitome of bliss, riding across the kingdom, having adventures, knocking out evil, righting Regina’s wrongs where they could. She was happy for Regina. She’d had a hard life and deserved a happy ending.

So Rumple was king. He was busy all the time now. She hardly ever saw him and when she did he was too tired to speak. She missed him dearly. She missed their conversations by his spinning wheel, she missed the evenings when she’d read to him, curled up by the fire and warm, him on his huge armchair and her on the floor. She missed his awkward smiles. She missed his teasing. She missed the way his eyes would catch fire when they looked at her for too long, the way her skin would prickle when she knew he was watching her.

That’s why when she finally caught him, a month after his rule had started, she was delighted. He was sat at his spinning wheel and for once, the castle was empty. She crept up on him from behind – it was a game of sorts that they had started, seeing if she could creep up on him.

“Heard you coming up the stairs, dearie.” He chuckled darkly, and Belle sighed. So it was one of _those_ nights.

She placed her hands on his shoulders, pressing down gently and feeling him tense beneath her. She continued massaging him, and eventually he relaxed and began to spin again. A comfortable silence settled over them and Belle felt like she would melt into it. “What’re you trying to forget tonight?” She whispered, not wanting to break the spell that had fallen over them. Immediately she felt him tense again, and Belle’s calm shattered as she felt the walls around him that he sometimes let down for her rebuild themselves instantly and ten feet higher with jagged edges.

He rose to his feet and Belle was forced to step away. “Nothing for you to concern yourself with, dearie.” He sneered and when Belle placed a placating hand on his shoulder, he tensed and Belle shrunk back.

“Rumple, please…” She murmured softly. “You have to talk to me sometime,” she sang, trying to sound teasing. “Might as well be now.” 

“Aren’t you just the help?” He grumbled. “Where does it say that the king _must_ converse with his servants?” Belle felt immeasurably hurt. In all the three years she had been with him here, he had never made her feel less than him, for all that he had bargained for her to be his maid. He had always treated her with respect, and though she knew he was just lashing out because something in him cowered every time she showed care for him, something in her despised him at that moment.

“Fine.” She muttered, exiting the dining hall and slamming the towering oak doors hard behind her.

Rumplestiltskin didn’t move for a moment; then he sat, and with a sigh, began to spin again.

**…**

Although Belle had went to sleep with him furious, her brain didn’t seem to get the message. She slept restlessly, filthy images running through her mind the minute she closed her eyes, the tingling between her legs making it impossible for her to sleep very long.

_Long spinner fingers danced across her bare thigh and Belle groaned, her legs spreading wantonly before him._

_“Please…” She begged, trembling pathetically under his touch. “Please.”_

_The man between her legs giggled and Belle glared at him, placing the heel of her foot on the arch of his shoulder and trying to force him closer to her. He rewarded her desperation with a long lick up her thigh, anywhere but where she wanted him._

_“I’ll make you a deal.” She begged, hands coming up to tease her nipples, desperate for any sort of touch, even if it was her own, groaning when he forced her hands away._

_“Only I get to touch.” He whispered into the dark._

_“You’re not doing a very good job of it.” Belle complained, struggling to free her hands of his._

_“What’s the deal you’re willing to offer me?” He interrupted and Belle gave in to his strength, sinking back onto the hard wood of the dining table with a sigh._

_“You touch me.” She commanded. “Everywhere I want to be touched.” She added, so there wouldn’t be any loopholes for the master manipulator to exploit._

_“And where do you want me to touch you?” He asked, hot fingers trailing across her naked breasts. She laughed, eyes closing in bliss as she arched into his touch._

_“You know exactly where.” She said accusingly. “Now touch me.”_

_His fingers disappeared and she couldn’t see him. “But what will you give me?” Hot breath brushed the spot under her ear and she shivered, goosebumps prickling all over her skin. “What’s the deal, dearie?” He whispered and she gasped as clever fingers reached down and pinched her nipples. She mewled, panting hard._

_“Anything,” she moaned. “I’ll give you anything.”_

_Another high pitched giggle sounded as he bit at the spot beneath her ear, strong arms helping her to her knees. “I do love it when they say that.” He breathed. “Hands and knees, dearie.” He commanded, and Belle fell forward obediently, grinding like a mutt into his hand when it found its way between her legs._

_“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” she whispered frantically, nails biting harshly into the back of his neck as she pulled him against her, mindlessly lustful._

_“Come for me, Belle, come for me.” He growled, sucking hard at the skin below her ear._

_“Yes.” She breathed,_ w _hite lights exploding behind her eyelids as she fell back into his waiting arms._

Belle jerked back to consciousness, a tight, hot pressure between her legs that felt suspiciously like his fingers from her dream. Angrily, she threw off her covers, breathing hard. “I hate you.” She murmured to her ceiling, standing and moving towards her en suite for her third cold shower of the night.

**…**

The next week was a busy one for the king, which meant he’d want more tea and those little cakes she had grown accustomed (if not skilled) at making. She purposely didn’t make them and made herself scarce from the throne room so she wouldn’t be at his beck and call, choosing to dust, clean and reorganize the library instead. He clearly didn’t need her, Belle thought determinedly as she climbed the ladder to get at the top shelves. Let him make his own tea. She wouldn’t miss him at _all._

She hadn’t seen him for five days, skillfully avoiding the staircases he usually used and going to her rooms straight after she’d done her chores and had dinner to reduce their chances of meeting. Perhaps she was being petty but she felt hot and hurt whenever she thought of him because she felt so much for him and he obviously thought nothing of her. It hadn’t just been that night – he hadn’t looked for her at all the past month. He hadn’t made any effort to even try to talk to her, hadn’t shown that he’d noticed her absence at all. There had been once or twice she had thought that maybe… _Maybe_ he cared for her. The way he’d looked at her when he gave her that rose, the way his hands had lingered on her waist… But the weeks that followed his crowning proved that it had simply been her imagination. Belle sighed, placing the last book back on the top shelf. Perhaps love wouldn’t be a mystery she’d get to solve in this lifetime. Her eyes stung painfully at the thought and Belle sighed irritably as she reached up to brush the tears out of her eyes. That proved to be a mistake. The ladder wobbled; once, twice and Belle yelled as she hurtled towards what was certain to be her doom.

_“Rumplestiltskin!”_

Belle felt warm hands pull her out from the air and gasped when she found herself looking into familiar amber eyes. She just stared into them for a moment, trying to catch her breath and calm her racing heart.

“Thank you.” She murmured into his chest, and for a second she forgot all her tangled feelings toward him, simply basking in the comfort of his embrace.

“Why do you insist on putting yourself in harm’s way?” Rumplestiltskin was growling at her. Belle wiggled in his arms.

“Put me down.” She commanded and he dropped her to the ground at once, blinking as if he hadn’t realized he was still holding her. “I don’t put myself in harm’s way.” She responded, brushing down her dress with as much dignity as she could muster. “Harm simply comes to me.”

“No more ladders.” He grumbled and she glared at him.

“How will I reach all the high places that I need to dust?” She countered, her lip curling. “I wouldn’t want to shirk on my duties to the king.” She added, surprised at the venom that had snuck into her voice.

He looked bewildered now. “What?” He asked, eyes narrowing and eyebrows drawing downward. “Have I done something to offend you, Belle?” His voice is deeper now, edged with tension and frustration and Belle feels that familiar tingle between her legs and _gods_ this is really not the time.

“Is this about the other night?” He’s growling now, and hearing him sound like he did in her dreams last night definitely wasn’t helping the situation. “I am not obliged to share every little thing on my mind, dearie.”

Belle stared at him, wondering if he really hadn’t noticed the distance between them since he’d become king. “It is not just about the other night.” She hissed. “I haven’t talked to you in over a month and when we finally get a _chance,_ ” her voice breaks here, “you push me away like I’m nothing and I just –“ She realizes at that moment that if she doesn’t walk away right then and there she’s going to cry and he’s going to see and that would just make things worse. She forces her voice to be cold, the way she would when Gaston would say something particularly chauvinistic and she forces herself to picture him, not Rumple in front of her as she says, “Good evening, your highness” and walks out of the library.

**…**

He seeks her out two days later, on her way to her rooms and her breath catches at the sight of him. Her dreams have been more _adventurous_ recently and seeing him just brings to mind some delicious memories they’d had in her mind the night before. She honestly doesn’t know when she became such a sex-crazed wanton but she’s sure it has something to do with him, because she _definitely_ doesn’t remember having these kinds of dreams of Gaston. Most of her dreams involving _him_ featured jack-hammers.

“Rumplestiltskin.” She greets, inclining her head so she doesn’t have to meet his eyes.

“Is my little maid still angry with me?” He purrs, and Belle tilts her neck up, resisting a groan because he has no right to sound that suggestive with her.

“I’m not angry with you.” She lies, edging past him toward her rooms.

“You are.” He says, and now he sounds accusing. “You’re avoiding me. I haven’t seen you or my tea cakes in days.”

Belle barks out a laugh. “They’re not your tea cakes. I made them; they’re mine.” Belle argues with him for the sake of arguing because she just wants to talk to him about something without talking about anything.

“And who gave you the recipe, dearie?” He counters. Belle sighs. She can’t really argue with him there. “Why are you avoiding me?” He doesn’t sound like himself. He’s not playing for once. There are shadows in his eyes and she wants nothing more than to take his hand but she can’t because she isn’t so desperate that she thinks that he would want comfort from her.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” She mutters, not looking at him. His eyes widen, something like incredulity blooming in his eyes.

“Oh can it be that my maid _misses_ me?” The mocking in his tone burns her and she hurries down the hall toward her room, away from his scalding cruelty. “What fool misses a monster like me?” The self-loathing in his tone cuts deep into her skin and she has never once hated him, but at that moment she comes close because he cuts at her heart and in the same instance makes her want to hold him.

“You don’t get to do that.” She snaps at him, fire in her eyes. “You don’t get to make me feel _sorry_ for you – “

“I don’t want your pity.” He snarls back at her, taking a step closer and Belle just hurts everywhere because he’s finally talking to her but it’s the worst conversation they’ve ever had.

“You want it.” She accuses, turning her chin up at him in defiance. “You must want it or you wouldn’t say things like that.”

He looks at her and suddenly he’s more confused than angry. “Why do you _care_?” He asks sounding so lost that she just unravels at the seams.

She takes his hand in hers, and for once he doesn’t pull away. It’s just them, breathing, and for a moment she just looks at him, unthinking, because she can.

“Because I love you.” She says, and she didn’t know until she said it but the words fit so easily onto her tongue that it must be true.

He pulls away immediately and Belle isn’t even surprised, though the loss of his touch is like a blow to her face. “I don’t believe you.” He says, eyes blank and Belle turns away, scrabbling with the knob of her door, desperate to get away from this newfound truth that she has found, from him, from the nothing in his eyes.

“I don’t care.” She lies, voice broken, and slams the door behind her.

**…**

They don’t speak at all following that and Belle stops avoiding the throne room because there’s no need, really, if he’s just going to ignore her. Her chest feels ache-y and heavy whenever she sees him but she tries not to pay attention to that, instead focusing on the people that fill the throne room, talking to them as they wait for his ruling, milking them for information of Avonlea’s welfare and Emma and Regina’s latest adventures.

One day the women themselves turn up, wanting advice on some kind of potion. They wait in line just like everyone else and Belle is impressed because there was a time when Regina would simply have waved a hand and everyone else would disappear. She stares at their entwined hands and the looks they give each other when they think they aren’t looking and something hot and prickly blooms in her chest and she has to look away from the thing she is sure she will never have.

She pulls Emma aside just before she leaves, hugging her childhood friend briefly before asking her the question she’s been dying to know since forever.

“How did I get with Regina?” Emma chuckles, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I don’t know… I already knew I was in love with her… She wasn’t so receptive toward my attentions in the beginning, but it wasn’t because she didn’t love me, it was because she hadn’t trusted anyone in so long she’d forgotten how. I guess we just worked past that and everything fell into place.” Emma shrugs here, like it’s easy to just work past it all. Like she didn’t even have to try. Belle bites her lip in frustration.

“But _how_?” She asks and Emma must hear her desperation because she sees the pity in the other woman’s eyes.

“Slowly.” Emma says with an encouraging smile, and Regina must have rubbed off on her too because there was a time when Emma Swan Charmont just didn’t _do_ pep talks. “And you have to wait for him to come to you.”

“But what if he doesn’t love me?” Belle whispers, and Emma sneaks a glance at their new king, who just happens to be staring right back at them, or rather, Belle, and laughs.

“Oh honey, trust me, he does.”

**…**

It was Belle’s birthday soon. And of course, her birthday fell on Christmas, the same day the whole world insisted on singing bloody ‘Joy to the World’. As if the wench didn’t have enough joy in her, smiling at everyone she saw, even him, up until a few months ago.

Not recently, though. When she saw him now, her face was just sad, though he could tell she was trying her hardest to hide it. Her smiles at everyone else were false nowadays, and even when the Hatter came to see her, she seemed slightly… Damper, than usual.

She _loved_ him, she had said. Even if he believed she did, which he _didn’t, he_ wouldn’t allow it to continue. People who loved him ended up hating him and for some reason he couldn’t bear the thought of her hating him. Bae’s face when he’d fell through the portal, utter disgust and hatred… He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if Belle ever looked at him the same way.

Any affection the woman had for him likely just came from the fact that she had no one else to be affectionate with. She must be so lonely up here, he thought, looking out the window at the cold, harsh terrain of the mountain the Dark Castle set atop of, with no one but an old beast for company.

 _That’s it,_ he thought. _I’ll throw a ball, invite her kingdom, her friends, the bloody Charming’s._ Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so desperate for company that she’d miss him, of all people. Besides, he thought with a smirk, he was king. He _should_ throw a Christmas ball. He remembered the Charming’s used to have one every year. It was practically his duty. It could have nothing to do with Belle whatsoever. It could just be him… Feeling like he wanted to have a ball. The thought sounded ridiculous to him, but no one needed to know that. No one needed to know that this ball was just for Belle. Not even her.

**…**

When Belle woke the next morning, she found a large manila envelope by her bed. Curious, she untied the golden ribbon and eagerly grabbed at the card inside.

 _You’re invited to Rumplestiltskin’s annual Christmas ball._ She didn’t read the rest of the card, the card dropping from her fingers when she caught sight of what lay in front of her bed. It glistened in the sunlight and Belle gasped as she saw it in its entirety.

It had to be the most beautiful thing she’d ever owned. It was a golden ball gown, the bottom layer made entirely out of golden thread, overlayed with a softer, transparent sunshine yellow cloth, keeping the dress from being overly gaudy. It had a daring, plunging neckline and capped sleeves and it was gorgeous and perfect and _oh Rumplestiltskin._

“Thank you.” She whispered to the air, on the off chance he might be listening. He did that sometimes, especially when they had an argument they hadn’t yet completed. She was inspecting the dress more closely when a small little note dropped onto her room’s carpet.

She picked it up, holding it carefully between her fingers. A small little smile bloomed on her face as she read it.

_Happy Birthday, Belle._

**…**

The ball was everything she could have ever wanted in a ball. Everyone she loved was there, her father, her old nanny, Emma, Mulan, Merida… The food had been made by fairies, she knew, because you could taste the fairy dust with each bite of the fairy cakes and if you paid attention, it was all over the butter potatoes as well. The old ballroom that she was sure he hadn’t used till now had been dusted and cleaned (and not by her) and decorated with magical icicles that sparkled in the light, mistletoe, holly wreathes and in the very center of the ballroom, the most beautiful Christmas tree she’d ever seen (which she hadn’t failed to notice, was primarily decorated with golden belles.)

It was _amazing_ and she knew he had only done it for her because he had once confided to her as she sat on the dining hall table and he spun gold by the spinning wheel, he hated balls. She didn’t see him until everyone had left and she was the only one left on the dance floor. He was up on the floor above her, just watching, with the oddest glint in his eyes.

“Come down.” She called, and he did, appearing two steps away from her. Her heart beat loudly in her chest. This was the closest they had been since that horrible argument they’d had two months ago.

“I don’t know if you remembered,” she said with a mischievous grin, “but it’s my birthday.” He smirked at her, eyes twinkling. “And I only want one thing,” she continued.

“Only one?” He asked, sounding horribly amused but his face not yet giving anything away.

“Yes,” Belle breathed. “Dance with me?” It was almost a plead, and he couldn’t refuse her then. Not when she looked so beautiful in his colour, not when she looked like all her hopes had been invested in that one request. Not on her birthday.

He took her outstretched hand, and snapped his fingers, a not quite familiar song beginning to play. His other hand went round her waist and Belle placed her hand happily on his shoulder.

The song was slow and Belle’s eyes were alight with happiness and he couldn’t help but lean a little closer, forgetting himself in the dazzle of her company. She smelled like light.

“I’ve missed you.” He whispered against her hair and it’s alright, he thinks, eyes closing because it was so _tiring_ not talking to her all this while, not seeing her laugh at all the dark cracks he makes. Her eyes blink up at him and he understands that it must be odd for her to hear him say that because he’s never acknowledged that he even likes her and that thought makes him want to pull away and run, but he doesn’t because it’s her birthday and somehow he knows that she wants him to stay. He can allow himself this one night, he thinks, just this one.

“I’ve missed you too.” She whispers back, and then she wraps her arms around him and he can’t keep himself from her anymore. He cracks down the middle and buries his hands in her hair like he’s always wanted to. There’s a dam inside him that has shattered; it has something to do with her proximity. The closer she is, the more he doesn’t mind the feeling that there is something rushing out of him. _Love,_ an old, rusty voice inside him supplies, but he dismisses the thought quickly because it’s too frightening to think of, that this small, perfect maid in his arms could be his weakness.

“Oh, _Belle._ ” He whispers into her hair, running his hands up and down her back because now that he’s allowed himself to touch her he can’t get enough, not when she’s letting him. Not when she’s looking at him like he’s a dream when he’s always known he’s a nightmare. His panic must read in his face because she reaches up to cup his face.

“Stop,” she tells him gently. “Please, _Rumple_ ,” she says, desperately, like she’s in pain, “don’t run from me this time.” Her eyes meet his and he knows what she wants. This is usually the part when he disappears in a puff of smoke or makes whatever cuts he can at her heart, chasing her away and daring her to hate him. He doesn’t, _can’t,_ if he wanted to leave he should have made his exit long ago because having her in his arms is like having a forbidden apple in his hands and he was never good at resisting temptation. She leans in to kiss him and he meets her halfway, delighted when she opens her mouth for him immediately. It’s not slow or soft, but they’ve waited so long he doesn’t think either of them really care. She tastes hot and sweet and his skin tightens, but he knows how to hold on to his magic. He also knows right then that it’s true love, but she doesn’t need to know that. Maybe one day she’ll be able to coax him out of his handicap, out of his magic and they could grow old together. But they can talk about that later. When she’s not making those noises.

He growls when she bites at his bottom lip, and the noise she makes is hungry and greedy and pure _sin._ He backs her up against a refreshment table in retaliation. She sweeps a hand across it, knocking glasses and bowls to the floor before hopping atop it and wrapping her legs around his waist. Her boldness pleasantly surprises him and he leans in, leaving a trail of kisses down her neck, loving the desperate noises she makes as he does so.

“Undress me.” She orders him, and he licks his lips, mouth dry. He opens his mouth but she interrupts him. “Before you ask, yes, I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure in my entire life, I’ve been dreaming about this for months,” she crooks a finger under his chin, eyes darkened over with lust. “now. Undress me.”

He snaps a finger and her clothes are gone, leaving her wonderfully bare. There’s something unbearably hot about being fully dressed when she’s entirely naked. “Touch me,” she begs, and he loves the power she’s unwittingly given him by voicing her own desperation to be touched.

“What will you do for me if I touch you?” He whispers into the dark and she arches as he says so, spreading her legs a little wider across the table. _God,_ she looks almost obscene like that, splayed out like a meal. She must know how inviting she looks because she smiles, tilting her head back. She looks like desire itself, the living embodiment of temptation.

“Anything,” she says breathily, “anything you want.”

He breaks, circling her clit, watching her in rapture as she undulates in his hands, gasping and making the prettiest noises for him. He pinches a nipple to punish her for being so tempting, so very lovely, for breaking his self-control to pieces. She practically screams and he smirks almost cruelly.

He shoves a finger between her legs and she moans loudly, bucking her hips into his hands. He sets a fast and brutal pace and she’s grinding her hips into his fingers with every stroke but he won’t give her enough to come. No, he wants her to beg for it.

He slows his pace and she whines. He’s throbbing almost painfully now. He can’t remember why he thought leather was so comfortable. He brushes a finger over her sensitive clit. She whimpers pitifully. “You won’t come until I have a taste of you.” He tells her, smirking smugly when she wiggles desperately against his fingers. “Tell me I can taste you, Belle, tell me.” He orders, smiling when she nods desperately, head banging into the table with the force of her agreement.

“Taste me please, have me, devour me,” she’s almost incoherent as she begs and he leans down between her legs. She’s so wet she’s dripping onto the table, _fuck._

“Who’s a dirty girl?” He whispers, and he doesn’t even know where that came from but it feels right somehow, heat seeping through his body. He licks down her slit and she trembles all over, begging under her breath. “Answer me, wench.” He orders and he can tell she likes it from the way she clenches around his hand.

“I am.” She grinds out breathily, before looking down at him cheekily. “Now fuck the dirty wench to punish her.” She orders and he groans, knees weak. She takes advantage of his momentary weakness and hops off the table, pushing him onto his back onto the floor. Her fingers scrabble at the laces, clumsy and inexperienced and he starts to panic because what on earth are they doing, and just at that moment, her eyes catch hold of his. Her eyes turn steely, and her hands grip his.

“You don’t run from me tonight, Rumplestiltskin.” She whispers, orders him. Her fingers finally manage to pry apart his laces and his member springs to attention. She lowers her head and licks it, like it’s one of those candy sticks children are so fond of and his eyes roll back in his head, all thought of disappearing back to his room vanishing. Along with all his thought. She sinks down on him, and she’s hot and tight and _fuck fuck fuck._ “You don’t run from me, ever again.” She says, and she looks like a queen as she rides him and how does she know how to do this, he wonders, then remembers that one book he’d mistakenly left in the library and oh god he’s never been more thankful for a book in three hundred years because _oh god._ He rubs at her clit and leans up to bite at her breasts and they come magnificently together, her hands on his bare chest and his on her waist. He wonders when he lost his shirt and then decides it doesn’t matter, snapping his fingers so they reappear atop his bed.

They talk then, about the things they he doesn’t speak of in the light of day. He tells her of Bae’s happiness in the other land, about the witch who’d shown him his son in a glass ball, happy like he’d never been happy with his father. He tells her of his failure and of his decision to stay out of his son’s life, the hardest decision he has ever had to make. He tells her of his desperation to make the Enchanted Forest better, to use his magic the way Baelfire would have wanted him to. She only listens, kissing at his chest when the tears leak out of his eyes, telling him she loves him, telling him that they will go and look for Bae together in the other world, telling him that his son would only be happy to see him. He shuts her up with kisses when he cannot stand to hear her empty promises anymore. She only wants to make him feel better, he understands, cannot stand to see him in such pain. He doesn’t blame her for it; the feeling is mutual.

The second time they fuck it’s slower, but not any less satisfying and Rumplestiltskin wonders at the pace they’ve set. Their first fuck after their very first kiss. Finding out they’re true love in the span of one night. He traces a finger along her bare back, almost certain she’ll sprout wings. There’s an angel lying in bed with the devil, he feels like telling someone. Hell should freeze over any second now.

…

She wakes up to an empty bed. She wraps his bedsheet around herself and wills herself to think positively, it may not mean what she dreads – _he’s walked away from her again_ , a dark part of her heart is almost certain. She searches the castle for him, finally finding him in the throne room, legs crossed and gaze contemplative. He’s been thinking, she knows. About them. She’s both curious and afraid about the conclusion he has come to.

“Good morning.” She says, taking a step closer, heart pounding in her chest. “Are you going to hurt me or are we going to be together?” She asks plainly, because she has no wish to prolong this conversation if it’s the former.

He laughs but there’s no humor in it. “Are those my only two options?” He asks, and Belle nods.

“Yes.” She says, because it’s true. If he refuses to be with her now, after last night… Her heart might well and truly break.

He crooks a finger at her, and she comes willingly. He drapes her across his lap and kisses the peaks of her breasts, brushing his bedsheet away like it’s an irritating pest. He strokes his fingers over her breasts and her clit, teasing her, enjoying the moans they draw out of her cupid bow’s mouth. A thin sheen of perspiration forms across her flushing skin and he admires it as she writhes in his arms. “Beautiful,” he says admiringly as he pushes his fingers into her and she throws her head back in bliss. He draws out this orgasm longer, sits her so her legs are spread wide over his, so she can look at the entirety of the empty throne room. As he works her to her climax he makes his vows to her. “Everything I own is yours.” He tells her, “all the lands, all the kingdoms I rule over…” she makes that lovely hiccoughing sound that means she’s going to come soon. “My kingdom for you,” he whispers, kissing the spot beneath her ear. Just as she comes, he whispers it; the words she will not use to break him.

_“I love you.”_

 


End file.
